#nicholassimonjakubowski

[rosiebutler]

closed starter for @nicholassimonjakubowski

   she wonders,  briefly,  if they come to escape the heat.  pushed by warm winds into timbre fold-out chairs.  oh,  narcotics anonymous  &.  all their fine little luxuries!  air-con,  tea and stale biscuits.   it’s not particularly positive for sid to deem the influx of sufferers all about the weather,  and none about their personal drive.    anyway,   she’s put in her place relatively quickly.  as soon as meeting adjourns,  the newbies swallow most of the session in words.  which:   is fine.   which:  is actually what this is all about. and yet...                 ---  gaze wanders elsewhere.  simon hasn’t said more than a few sentences,  which is more than sydney has...   but she doesn’t need to vent tonight.   she’s here for the company.  apartment walls close in on the lonely.      so they’re packing up their chairs,  finished with their farewells to the organisers and co.,  and playful eyes return to simon--- this time with intent.         "   two for one pizzas tonight at Heaven?  we can pick ‘em up on the way home.  "  does she sound more australian when she’s excited about food?  " don’t leave me hangin'. "

[rosiebutler]

closed starter for @nicholassimonjakubowski​   

love is in the kitchen.  all heart poured into hands kneading dough,  the setting of a family table,  the worship of something fresh and something beautiful in a place we call home.  it isn’t an experience sid grew up with;  mother’s attention in the evening was her work,  which will keep a young girl alive---  but not warm.  the short few years of motherhood herself?   well, okay,  she practiced it,  but not enough to hone the skill.  besides.  it’s been eight years.

   so nimble hands mock confidence.  they also take three times as long as the average cook---  an effort that throws her off the sport  &.  stacks her uber  points up big time.   but not always.   sometimes,  on a night like tonight,  sid is inspired.

    and inspiration is something she cannot shake easily.  so why not share it?

   she’s up the night before marinading the butcher’s lamb,  and today is spent roasting the veges,  now stirring thick gravy in a pot.  sid is perhaps the only one in phoenix deciding to pour herself into a roast dinner this hot summer.  

   when simon offers his hand,  she gently slaps it away.  my project,  donning barely-worn apron for the novelty of it.  so he’s settled into the couch with sunny,  netflix blabbers from the speakers,  and sid is humming that tune of the dance she’s taught her girls all week.

    it starts with the humming,  then  ( perhaps because it’s starting to smell beautiful in this apartment,  which means they’re about thirty minutes away from dining,  which means he may or may not like her food soon )   well,  here comes the familiar outlet of her stress.   she’d like to dance.  apron comes off,  slung over the dining chair,  socked feet take her to the man’s second home:   her sofa.

     here,  an arm is extended,  palm up.   take it,  says her hand,  while her mouth is all,   “  c’mon,  we’re dancing.  right now,  you and me.  i won’t be taking no for an answer.  “